Enemy of Rome (42 page)

Valerius sensed a ripple of fear run through the crowd as though the Praetorian’s words were a stone thrown into the centre of a pool. ‘What can we do to stop them?’ The plea came from somewhere in the centre of the great mass.

‘You can fight,’ the Praetorian snarled. ‘The men of the Guard will not submit and they expect the people of Rome to fulfil their oath to the Emperor they appointed. Every able-bodied man must report to the armoury at the Castra Praetoria to be issued with weapons. An extra ration of grain will be distributed tomorrow from the fourth hour. It is the duty of every family to stockpile what food they can in case of siege.’

‘On whose orders?’ another man demanded.

‘On the orders of the Emperor.’ The Praetorian looked towards Vitellius, daring him to deny it, but the Emperor seemed to have drifted from this world part way to the next. Galeria opened her mouth to argue the point for her husband, but Valerius laid a hand on her arm.

‘This is no time to provoke the only force capable of keeping you safe, my lady.’

The Augusta glared. ‘Just because my husband has decided to trust you, do not think your writ runs in this family,’ she snapped.

‘What about the Senate?’ the man in the crowd continued his argument.

‘You saw the worth of the Senate. What do you think?’ the Praetorian officer spat back to general amusement.

And he was right. Valerius felt a surge of helpless anger. If the Senate had supported Vitellius’s abdication, even the Praetorians would have been hesitant about opposing the legitimate political power in Rome. But fear of being tainted by association had paralysed them. Instead, the only man who had tried to save Rome was the one man who no longer had the power to do so.

Vitellius had depended on Titus Flavius Sabinus to tip the balance against the Praetorians, and Titus Flavius Sabinus had betrayed him.

Where was the Prefect of Rome?

Valerius studied his surroundings with growing alarm. Vitellius was still trying to make his way towards the Temple of Mars Ultor, but the crowd barred his way, touching his mourning robes and imploring him to remain. Ominously, the Emperor’s personal Guard stood back, taking their lead from the grim Praetorians in front of the rostrum. The men in black and silver looked capable of turning on the Imperial family at a word from their commander. Lucius plucked at his father’s arm and tried to draw him back to the litter, but Vitellius only looked at him in confusion. ‘Come, Aulus.’ Valerius pushed his way to Vitellius’s side and took his old friend by the shoulder. ‘It is time to go home.’

As he helped the Emperor into one of the litters he sensed a malevolent presence somewhere close by. He looked up to find Domitianus staring at him with undisguised hatred from between the pillars of the basilica. Beneath his cloak, Valerius’s left hand went to his sword, but by the time it was half drawn Vespasian’s son was gone.

‘Serpentius?’ The Spaniard emerged from the crowd like a wraith at his call. ‘I’ll stay with the Emperor. You go to Sabinus’s villa and try to find out what’s happening.’

‘And the lady Domitia?’

There it was again, that terrible conflict between love and duty. Valerius shook his head. ‘Sabinus must be your first priority, but do what you can.’

‘He was going to hand you the keys to Rome, but you were too frightened to take them.’

Titus Flavius Sabinus’s left eye twitched at the undisguised contempt in his nephew’s voice. ‘It was a trap,’ he defended himself. ‘Did you not see the Praetorians? They would have butchered me the moment I set foot on the rostrum.’

‘When courage was needed you showed none.’ Domitianus continued his attack, stalking the room like a caged lion as Sabinus lay slumped in his favourite chair. Since the fight with Gaius Valerius Verrens the Prefect of Rome had seen a new and worrying side of Vespasian’s son. Hatred and a burning desire for revenge had wiped away the boy and created a formidable and dangerous man. Not dangerous like his father, whose ruthlessness was tempered by natural decency, but dangerous and unpredictable like a snake. Allow him within striking range and you would regret it. If Sabinus was being honest this new Domitianus frightened him.

‘A small escort, he assured me,’ the prefect continued. ‘A cohort of the Praetorian Guard was not part of our agreement. It is not too late. I will send a messenger to the palace to reopen the negotiations. An agreement is still possible.’

‘Agreement?’ Domitianus laughed aloud. ‘Your messenger would not get within twenty paces of the Domus Aurea. The Guard has set up camp outside the walls and no one gets past without their sanction. The only agreement you would get is the confirmation that you are an old fool when they sent back your messenger’s head.’

‘Then we must protect ourselves.’ Sabinus cringed at the plaintive, almost pleading quality to his voice. He knew what Domitianus was thinking. Could this be the same man who forced the River Tamesa with the Fourteenth legion? The man who helped destroy the mighty Caratacus? Well, Domitianus would discover that a man at sixty-five was not the same man he had been at forty. He no longer had the energy for ambition or the strength for hatred. He did not hate Vitellius. If anything he pitied him. Conspiracy was all very well, but the thought of action made him long for his bed and the ministrations of a pliant slave girl. And Domitianus was right. He was frightened. The grim, determined features of the Praetorians had made his heart quail, but not so much as the enthusiasm of the crowd for their Emperor. Perhaps he could have made the soldiers see reason, but the mob would have torn him apart. ‘We will fortify the house, garrison it with the urban cohorts.’

‘And wait to be burned out?’ the younger man demanded. ‘This house is indefensible and you know it, uncle. It is overlooked on both sides and the rear. Do you think a few more planks and grain sacks will stop a man like Gaius Valerius Verrens?’

‘This is not about Verrens,’ Sabinus snapped. Something in the younger man’s eyes told him he was wrong. Domitianus’s hand went to his smashed nose and he looked as if he were capable of doing murder. Sabinus tried to inject some authority into his voice. ‘And the lady Domitia Longina Corbulo is a guest in my house. You would do well to remember that, Domitianus.’

Domitianus approached his uncle’s chair with a cold smile. Sabinus noticed with a slight shiver that the young man had armed himself with a sword since his visit to the Forum. ‘If you did not have the courage to accept Caesar’s sword from the hand of Aulus Vitellius do not have the temerity to dictate to me, uncle.’ He turned away with a giggle and Sabinus wondered, not for the first time, if his nephew was quite sane. Domitianus had told him about Domitia’s letter to Vitellius giving details of his discussions with the Senate, but in a house full of conspirators what was one more? He knew for a fact that Domitianus had been trying to undermine his authority with the urban cohorts. He blamed himself more than his guest for her lapse. He should have been more careful, but he’d never been a man to concern himself with detail. The Corbulos had always been rather fixated on the subject of duty. The poor girl obviously believed she’d done what was right. Domitianus on the other hand had wanted her scourged and offered to wield the whip himself. Sabinus found their relationship, or at least his nephew’s view of it, confusing.

‘You—’

‘No, Sabinus,
you
.
You
have half the Senate here wanting to know what you plan to do and hundreds more of my father’s supporters outside.
You
have three thousand men of the urban cohorts going hungry and sick of being looked down on by the Praetorian Guard.
You
are the man who will have to explain why he failed when my brother-in-law Cerialis appears at the gates of Rome tomorrow and discovers them closed against him.’

‘Tomorrow?’ Sabinus’s voice shook.

‘Yes, tomorrow. Word came an hour ago while you were still having the vapours. His cavalry forms the vanguard of the army.’

‘Tomorrow? It is not possible,’ the older man repeated. ‘They said another week.’

‘You must act now,’ Domitianus insisted. ‘The time for waiting is gone.’

‘No, I must—’

‘Or do you have another reason than fear for your hesitation?’ Domitianus’s voice turned soft as a serpent’s kiss and his eyes widened as if in sudden comprehension. ‘Could it be that you do not fully support my father’s claim to the purple? Could it be that the elder brother has aspirations of his own? Is that why you delay, uncle?’

‘No, of course not, my loyalty is to—’

‘Then act.’ Domitianus towered over his uncle, his anger making him seem taller. ‘Take your urban cohorts and the Senate and march to the Forum and make your own proclamation.
I, Titus Flavius Sabinus, Prefect of Rome, accept the offer of Aulus Vitellius, former Emperor, former Pontifex Maximus, to surrender the city to me to maintain order until such time as the Senate and people of Rome choose a successor.
You will reassure the Guard their positions and lives are safe, and a donative will be paid to ensure their future loyalty. The people will be free from hunger and unmolested because we will allow only the generals and their personal bodyguard into the city. Secure the Forum and you secure the city. Vitellius does not have enough Praetorian Guards both to man the walls and to cover any movement of the urban cohorts and the
vigiles
. Their only option will be to lay down their arms. The city will fall with not a life lost and Titus Flavius Sabinus will be hailed a hero. You cannot lose, but you must … act … now.’

Listening to those words, Sabinus felt a surge of his old energy. Domitianus was right. Through fear he had failed his brother when Vitellius had tried to hand over Caesar’s sword. He must not fail him again.

‘I will send a messenger to Vitellius to meet us at the Forum.’

‘No,’ Domitianus almost shouted. ‘Did you not hear me? We cannot warn Vitellius without warning the Guard. Come.’

The senators had begun arriving at the villa in little groups soon after Vitellius left the Forum. Each of them sought reassurances about their own, and the city’s, security from the man the Emperor had so publicly appointed as his political heir. About fifty of them jostled in Sabinus’s receiving room, eyeing each other suspiciously and already anticipating the changes in allegiance required to prosper amid the new order.

Sabinus froze in the doorway at the sight of the massed ranks and he would have turned back but for Domitianus’s firm hand on his shoulder. As his uncle stood quite speechless, the younger man realized he needed to act before panic spread. He searched the crowded room until he found the perspiring face he sought.

‘Volusius Saturninus? My uncle goes to save Rome. He marches to the Forum to accept Vitellius’s offer. Will you accompany him?’ The veteran senator shuddered at being singled out, but he knew that to hesitate would cost him when Vespasian came to power. ‘Yes, I will accompany him. I will place my life at risk to save Rome.’

‘And you, Verginius Rufus? You have supported my uncle since the beginning. Will you fail him now?’ Rufus saw his hopes of a lucrative province, the product of so much risk and so much indignity, fading. How could he refuse? How could any of them refuse? A few at the rear of the room tried to slink away, but Domitianus had placed a guard at the door and they found themselves corralled.

‘My father thanks you and will reward you,’ the young man told them. ‘This is your day. A day of honour that Romans will speak of for generations.’

He disappeared from the room for a few moments before returning to his uncle’s side. ‘No going back now, Sabinus,’ he whispered. He nodded at the senators, milling about looking shocked at their own bravery and wondering what came next. ‘They need a leader, uncle. The die is cast and the outcome is not in doubt. But we must act quickly. I’ve ordered a century of the First cohort to secure the Forum and the centurions are assembling your entire strength. Now.’

Conflicting emotions flickered through Sabinus. Fear, dismay, anger at the way he had been manipulated, and finally resolve, because he knew Domitianus was right. He had no other option.

‘Gentlemen?’ He straightened to his full height. ‘The Forum.’

He led them out, with Saturninus at his side, and the rest of the senators followed in twos and threes. Domitianus had already instructed his uncle’s guards that they should be encouraged – herded like cattle if need be – to stay together. He held back slightly and spoke to two of the men.

Domitia had kept to her room since the altercation between Valerius and Domitianus, but the sense of anticipation among the guards and servants told her something was going on. The feeling had grown throughout the morning and now a murmur of sound brought her to the doorway just as the two guards appeared. They announced that she was to join Sabinus and that she should put on her cloak. Her first instinct was to tell them she would not be ordered around without an explanation, but their cold expressions told her she’d be wasting her time. She chose her warmest cloak – the blue one – and accompanied them to where Domitianus waited by the entrance.

‘I hope you have an explanation for disturbing me, sir,’ she said coldly.

To her surprise he greeted the question with none of his usual condescension. ‘My uncle Sabinus is about to make history, and since you have always valued it I thought you might like to attend.’

He led her through the crowd of senators and the supporters and clients who had accompanied them to where Sabinus paced nervously, forced to wait for the urban cohort that was to escort him. They took their place among the politicians closest to the prefect. By now it was late afternoon and Domitia saw the skies were clear, as if autumn had ordered winter to take a step back for a day. She noted the uneasiness of the men around her and wondered how many of them were willing participants in the Prefect of Rome’s plans. Eventually, the sound of marching feet heralded the arrival of the cohort. The tribune in charge assigned a century to escort the leading group of Sabinus and his reluctant political supporters. The rest would bring up the rear. Every man carried a sword, spear and shield and Domitia shivered as her nose caught a distinctive scent she had only experienced once before. The mixed odours of sweat, fear and something indefinable that was the smell of a man anticipating battle. The sight of the soldiers sent a murmur through the politicians and their supporters, but it faded as Sabinus led them out of the villa gates into the road. Their route took them down towards the Subura and in the streets around the Porticus Liviae traders, workmen and their customers gaped in astonishment at the silent, grim-faced soldiers advancing with such purposeful strides. Faces began appearing in the windows of the apartment blocks lining the streets and neighbours shouted questions to each other above Domitia’s head. A cry went up when someone recognized the politicians in the midst of the soldiers.